


Prompt #45: 4x4 (and away we go)

by Avelys, yourmafiaexo



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dubious Consent, M/M, Object Insertion, mafia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 17:04:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8761654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avelys/pseuds/Avelys, https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourmafiaexo/pseuds/yourmafiaexo
Summary: 3D printing a backbone would have been easier and less time-consuming.





	

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS: Dubcon, mentions of prostitution, some weird stuff at the end. There is a scene involving lube and a gun. You have been warned.
> 
> Side Pairing/s: Baekhyun/Chanyeol
> 
> A/N: Ha! Let this be a cautionary tale. I signed up for this fest with absolutely NO idea of how a mafia functioned, or even gangs. I live in a nice, upper-middle class suburb. I am about as familiar with these things as I am to ska music. I thought some research would be able to pull me through. WELL GUESS WHAT NEVER HAPPENED?? YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENED INSTEAD?? SCHOOL!! PHYSICS IS AN ASSKICKER. Okay, /endrant.

The frigidity of the tiled floor barely registered in Jongin’s mind as he scrabbled against it, desperate to find footing. He was surrounded by an ominous darkness, courtesy of the rough blindfold his kidnapper had _so considerately_ tied around his eyes. The only thing more foreboding was the utter lack of sound- no cars, no sweet calls of birds, only the rustle of trees and the sounds of his own struggling.  
  
  
“What do you want?” he shouted desperately. His voice was extremely hoarse from all the screaming he had done, and every attempt at vocalization felt like razor blades being dragged down his throat. He tried to claw at the chafing zip ties around his ankles, but the fear had robbed his fingers of their usual dexterity and coordination, leaving them a jumbled, shaking mess. “Please, don’t do this. You’ve got the wrong guy, I swear it.”  
  
  
The truth was, they probably had the right person. If there’s anything having a family history with organized crime had taught him, it was that you can’t outrun your heritage, no matter how hard you try. Undoubtedly, his family had gotten into some sort of mess once more, and he was now reaping the rewards of their mistake.  
  
  
“What do we do now, boss?”  
  
  
Jongin waited on bated breath to hear the answer, but when it finally _did_ come, the words were spoken so softly that he had to strain to hear them.  
  
  
“You may leave.” The answer was direct, curt. Despite the low volume and soft tone, the voice carried the subtle edge of authority, and hearing it sent a shiver up and down Jongin’s spine. He renewed his struggle to set himself free, though he knew it to be hopeless- whoever had secured his wrists had done so expertly, and he found himself without any meaningful range of movement.  
  
  
All he could hear was the deluge of footsteps- there had to have been at least a dozen men, he guessed. Eventually, a loud _slam_ sounded, as if a heavy door had thudded closed. There was a finality in that sound, a finality that was confirmed when the sound of footsteps faded away into the distance, leaving behind only the eerie silence that had initially reigned.  
  
  
A soft hand touched his face, and he flinched away from the contact, backing up until he felt himself pressed against the wall. Whimpering, Jongin tried to make himself as small as he could, desperately trying to keep the despair coursing through his veins from showing on his face.  
  
  
“And _this_ is the son of the Kim family?” A scornful scoff. “Pathetic.”  
  
  
Those words had Jongin’s heart sinking, He had desperately hoped against hope that it was merely a random hit, but now his fears were confirmed: not only did his kidnapper know _exactly_ who he was, he had been the particular target.  
  
  
Roughly, a hand wrenched his head up, and another ripped the blindfold from his face. He blinked, his eyes bleary as they got accustomed to the dim lighting.  
  
  
He was not, as he had first assumed, in a warehouse. He was in a house- a bedroom, to be specific. The finely furnished room tipped him off that, more likely than not, his kidnapper was from a higher social stratum, as opposed to being a common street thug, or some minor gangster.  
  
  
Any hope he may have held on to died with that observation. Petty criminals could be easily bought off or intimidated, but this was a different matter entirely.  
  
  
Eventually, his vision improved, and the blurry figure before him sharpened into a person. He was struck by how short the man seemed to be, as well as his wide and innocent eyes. If he hadn’t known better, he would have mistaken the man before him for a mere schoolboy.  
  
  
But he did know better. He’d seen that face before, at his father’s meetings. Do Kyungsoo, one of the most ruthless mobsters in Seoul.  
  
  
Whimpering, Jongin sidled into a corner, trying to put as much distance between him and his captor as possible. “Is this about money?” he queried, his voice fearful and unsteady. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but the Kim family is kind of in dire straits right now, there’s _no_ way we’ll be able to pay you-”  
  
  
“Be quiet,” Kyungsoo ordered, studying him intently. At the command, Jongin immediately snapped his mouth shut, afraid of what would happen to him if he failed to heed it. “Money?” The man mused aloud. “Yes, well, that’s part of it. Your family owes me money, you see.” He stood up, though his eyes remained trained on Jongin. His lips quirked, as if it was amusing to observe Jongin’s fear. “I sent them the arms in advance, but they have yet to forward payment.” A short pause. “ _You_ are to be a collateral, of sorts.”  
  
  
“A collateral?” So he _wasn’t_ going to die today. The realization sent thrills of relief throughout his being, and he numbly allowed himself to collapse into a boneless heap on the floor. “How- how long does my family have to secure payment?” he asked timidly, hoping to gauge his chances.  
  
  
Wide eyes closed briefly, before opening and levelling an unsettling gaze at him. “A week,” the man pronounced.  
  
  
Grimly, Jongin took this in. He was as good as dead: there was no way his family would be able to scrounge up payment in such a short amount of time. From the look on the other man’s face, Jongin could tell that he knew this also: the interest with which he appraised his captive would not befit mere collateral.  
  
  
“So what’s going to happen to me if they can’t make the payment?” Jongin asked, stumbling over his words. There was a part of him that prayed the answer would be death, because he had heard of much worse-. The Byuns, one of his family’s associates, had reneged on a transaction a while ago. Last he heard, they had been entirely eradicated, with the only survivor sent to a whorehouse to work off the debt.  
  
  
In his mind, death was a preferable fate.  
  
  
But an answer was not forthcoming. Kyungsoo merely regarded him with an unfathomable gaze, eyes sharp and narrowed, though they remained preternaturally wide. The pressure seemed to build in the room as the time steadily ticked by, and Jongin could _swear_ that hours had passed before either one of them made a move.  
  
  
Kyungsoo’s hand startled Jongin as it reached forward, and he shuddered when the slender fingers stroked his face. Observing his reaction, his captor merely smirked, no doubt thoroughly enjoying his discomfort.  
  
  
“What’s going to happen to you?” Kyungsoo repeated, voice as soft as clouds. “Don’t worry Jongin. You’ll find out soon enough.”  
  
  
  
  
-  
  
  
  
  
While Jongin was a prisoner, at least he was kept within a gilded cage. Though Kyungsoo departed soon thereafter, he gave no explicit order for Jongin to be moved to less habitable accommodations. A flick of a wrist and a bright flash of a knife’s metal and his wrists and ankles were free from the zip ties. The door closed with a soft _thud_ , followed immediately by the telltale _clinks_ of the lock. The finality of those sounds reverberated in Jongin’s ears endlessly.  
  
  
Knowing that escape was naught but a mere dream now, he directed his attentions toward a cursory survey of his new home. The furniture looked fine, but at the same time rather austere. Indeed, much of the room was decorated thus- down to the golden filigree of the walls, which was lustrous but also rather cold. The preferences were altogether very singular, and in his opinion very telling about the character of his captor. Recalling the dead and cheerless smile of Do Kyungsoo, he had little difficulty in reconciling the man with the soulless grandeur of his surroundings.  
  
  
Carefully, he lowered himself onto the soft, plush bed. There was nothing he could do, really; his kidnappers had been utterly thorough, and had stripped his person of any tools that might have been utilized to facilitate an escape. Without even his phone to keep him occupied, there was little for Jongin to do other than surrender to the advances of sleep: hopefully, when well rested, he would be able to retain a greater portion of his wits than he had that day.  
  
  
Unfortunately, slumber was not easy to come by when one’s fate was so utterly uncertain. Jongin lay there, mind wandering in fearful directions. He envisioned the death, torture, or worse that surely awaited him. Predictably, he was nowhere close to being asleep when the loud sounds of clumsy footsteps sounded outside in the hall. He managed to pull himself into a sitting position just as the door swung open.  
  
  
A tall man walked in, ducking his head so as not to brush against the (rather low) doorway. He peered at Jongin with easygoing eyes, before offering a tentative smile. “Hey,” spoke a low, cheerful voice. “You settling in alright?”  
  
  
Jongin stared, dumbfounded. He had been kidnapped, and this man had the audacity to ask if he was settling in alright? Remembering his predicament, he did not give voice to these thoughts, instead merely replying with a wordless nod. It was, for sure, safer than confrontation.  
  
  
“Good, good.” The eyes crinkled as the creepy, cheerful smile flashed itself again. “I’m Chanyeol. Kyungsoo told me to keep watch over you, and to make sure you don’t try anything. So, here I am.” As if in afterthought, he added, “I’m also here to keep you safe, so you don’t have to worry about any of the grunts trying anything.”  
  
  
It wasn’t as if he had been planning an escape attempt anyway- he had neither the faculties nor the athleticism necessary for such a feat. While having someone watch over him would be uncomfortable, having someone there to ensure his safety was markedly less so, and ultimately he was not overly distressed over the matter. He shrugged and nodded, to show his understanding of the situation.  
  
  
Sitting down in a cross-legged position before him, Chanyeol smiled his bright smile again. It was getting a little creepy, honestly.  
  
  
“Since we’re going to be here for a while, why don’t we get acquainted?” the tall man suggested, his eyes twinkling with excitement. He did not show an ounce of seriousness that would befit a guard; indeed, his disposition seemed altogether childish. It made Jongin furrow his brows in confusion.  
  
  
“I guess it couldn’t hurt,” he answered dubiously.  
  
  
  
  
-  
  
  
  
  
A week in Chanyeol’s company had Jongin wanting to tear his hair out.  
  
  
It was not that the other man was in any way disagreeable. If anything, he was remarkably easygoing, and seemed to be the type to let his charges get away with murder. But the damned giant just wouldn’t stop _talking_ , and by the end of the week, there was a pounding headache raging within Jongin’s head.  
  
  
Still, his irritation with the guard was nothing compared to his fear over what might become of him. When Kyungsoo’s limousine pulled up the driveway, Jongin could feel a mixture of dread and anticipation rolling and crashing like waves in his stomach. The moment of truth was at hand, and if his heartbeat was any sort of an indication, he was feeling more anxious than he had ever before.  
  
  
His head swiveled toward the door involuntarily at a firm knocking sound. Standing at the threshold stood Chanyeol, his face uncharacteristically blank. “You should get ready,” the taller man told him, and Jongin felt a shiver run down his spine at the words. He nodded to show his understanding, before standing and heading toward the bathroom.  
  
  
Not wanting to test his captor’s patience, Jongin did not allow himself long for the shower. Still, not knowing whether it would be his last time ever taking one, he did his best to savor the experience- the way the hot water cascaded down his body and pooled at his feet, the luxurious feel of the steam as it rose in the humid air around him. It was funny how everything felt sharper when his future was uncertain- he had never paid much attentions to showers before.  
  
  
As he dried himself off with a smooth towel, he caught sight of his own reflection in the mirror. Biting his lip, he walked up to it.  
  
  
“You can do this,” he told himself, trying his utmost to believe his own words. “Whatever is going to happen, you can handle it.”  
  
  
And really, he almost convinced himself.  
  
  
Having never been allowed to set foot outside of the room his entire time in captivity, it was Jongin’s first time seeing the rest of the house. It did indeed live up to the grandeur of his imagination, and he tried not to look too awed as he made his way down the staircase.  
  
  
Chanyeol led him into the foyer. Kyungsoo sat straight in an armchair, face blank, and the only thing that betrayed his impatience was the incessant tapping of his fingers on the leather armrest. Noticing Jongin, he quirked his lips in the slightest of smiles, leaning forwards and steepling his fingers. “Hello Jongin,” he spoke pleasantly. “I trust you have been enjoying your stay?”  
  
  
Uncertainly, Jongin approached slowly. At Kyungsoo’s nod, he seated himself in the armchair across from the other man. Feeling the need to answer, but not trusting himself to speak, he simply nodded in response.  
  
  
“I’m sure you’re curious as to what your fate will be,” Kyungsoo continued. “So I will cut to the chase. Your family defaulted on the payment.”  
  
  
It was as he had expected, but Jongin still felt his heart sink. First, there was a rush of hearty anger, but it was soon succeeded by a lost and empty feeling. Without the possibility of a bailout from his family, his situation was one of complete and utter hopelessness. He shut his eyes tightly as he tried- but failed- to block off the horrifying possible fates that awaited him. To his mortification, he felt a tear trickle down his face. He immediately wiped it off, praying that none of the others had noticed.  
  
  
No such luck. “Now, don’t fret,” Kyungsoo’s tone was sharply amused, though his expression was as stoic as ever. “Your usefulness has not run out just because your family is unable to secure your release.” Leaning over, he tilted Jongin’s head up, eliciting a shiver. He seemed to delight in the reaction, if the slight quirk of his lips was any indication. “Abandoned or not, you are _still_ a Kim, and have your uses regardless.”  
  
  
Jongin did not fully understand the implication, but the hungry expression on Kyungsoo’s face made his blood run cold. Gulping, he did his utmost to make himself as small and unobtrusive as possible- a futile effort for someone of his height and weight, but it _did_ serve to make him feel better.  
  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Chanyeol watching with something akin to pity in his eyes. Never mind, he didn’t feel better at all.  
  
  
“I-I don’t…” he stuttered, his tongue clumsy with fear.  
  
  
Raising an eyebrow, Kyungsoo leaned forward. “You don’t what?” he asked curiously. “Speak up.”  
  
  
“I d-don’t want to have to sell myself,” he eked out, keeping his gaze downward out of shame. Still, he knew it was something he would never be able to do; he’d sooner die.  
  
  
“Hm.” Kyungsoo sounded thoughtful. “I’m sure we’ll be able to find a use for you.”  
  
  
“You could marry him.”  
  
  
The voice that spoke those unbelievable, outrageous words came from the doorway. Standing at the threshold, clad in clothes of utter simplicity, was a short and slight young man. Bathed in the shadows as he was, it was impossible to distinguish his face, and his voice was utterly unfamiliar.  
  
  
Evidently, Chanyeol knew him, however. “Baekkie?” He greeted the newcomer, face all confusion.  
  
  
Kyungsoo’s brow knit together. “I’m sure you have a rationale behind your words, Baekhyun.” he frowned. “But I’m afraid I’m not following.”  
  
  
The young man stepped into the light, revealing a pleasing face of fine features. Distantly, Jongin recognized him as the Byun boy- the same young man whose ignominious fate he had hoped to avoid.  
  
  
“He’s in the will to the Kim fortune and holdings, isn’t he?” Baekhyun smirked. “I’m sure that if you act quickly enough, you can stake your claim on them. You’ve been eyeing Uptown for years now.”  
  
  
“He’ll probably be written off the will though,” Chanyeol interjected, sounding confused. Just as confused as Jongin was. By the look on his dumb face, probably more.  
  
  
Baekhyun nodded in acknowledgement of the fact. “He will be, once they have no hope of recovering him.” He said matter-of-factly. “That’s why I’m saying we have to act quickly.”  
  
  
Kyungsoo seemed intrigued by the idea. “It does sound tempting,” he agreed. He turned to Jongin, with a contemplative look. “I suppose it’s up to you. It’s your family, after all. Tell me, what does your conscience say? Are you willing to turn on them?”  
  
  
“I-I…” Jongin didn’t know what to say. On one hand, this was his _family_ , the people who had given him a home, who had raised him, loved him unconditionally. But on the other hand, this was _his_ life that was at stake. He might have chosen death, but he was fairly sure that was off the table (Kyungsoo _had_ to recoup his losses somehow,) and the alternatives were simply not viable options.  
  
  
“I agree.”  
  
  
  
  
-  
  
  
  
  
In the days leading up to the wedding, Jongin had precious little contact with his soon-to-be groom. Instead, he was ferried from store to store to try on rings and suits, accompanied by Baekhyun and Chanyeol.  
  
  
He was rather perplexed about the extent with which the event was being hosted; in his imagination, he had been dragged down to the town hall to solemnize a civil union. Instead, everything around him seemed to be preparation for a bona fide wedding.  
  
  
While he did not voice his confusion aloud, it seemed that very few things got past Byun Baekhyun, because, while shopping for suits, Baekhyun said- without even sparing him a glance!- “It’s because he’s _Do Kyungsoo_ that he can’t just have a ramshackle potluck and call it a day. He has a reputation to maintain.”  
  
  
Jongin stilled in his tracks. “How public will it be?” he asked, thoroughly unsettled by the plethora of scenarios his imagination was conjuring. A quick glance told him that Chanyeol was hanging by the door, cigarette smoke wafting about his person, tightening like a noose. Which was a good thing: the less people there were to witness his discomfort meant the more of his pride remained intact.  
  
  
“Probably more on the private side,” Baekhyun answered, still not bothering to meet his eyes. “Your family will likely be invited. I’m sure you know what that means.”  
  
  
Shrugging, he nodded briskly. He had been expecting that; his family would probably be disposed of during the wedding. It possessed a rather sadistic sort of cunning: Kyungsoo was showing them that their fortune would be his before killing them. It was his twisted way of getting the last word in. Upon his invitation, they would have to come for fear of offending him. Once they realized what was transpiring, Kyungsoo would have them gunned down.  
  
  
Distantly, he wondered how much of the violence he would have to be witness to, before berating himself for thinking such unhealthy thoughts, and shaking his head to clear his mind. He tried not to dwell on the feelings of satisfaction the thoughts elicited.  
  
  
“I don’t know if white suits you,” Baekhyun mused, holding a vest to Jongin’s torso and inspecting it with a critical eye. “We may have to go with cream.” He frowned. “That’ll throw off the whole color scheme though. Maybe a different cut could make it work.”  
  
  
Jongin stared at Baekhyun. He couldn’t fathom how, after everything the other man had gone through, he could be so nonchalant about everything. Byun Baekhyun was the cautionary tale his mother often warned he and his siblings about before bed to scare them into good behavior. In his mind, he had built the other man up to be the stuff of tragic legend, the Eponine, the Fantine. But come to find, he was just another person, _had_ been all along.  
  
  
In fact, his story resonated with Jongin all the more now. In the end, he thought bitterly, they had both been equated to some sum of money. Perhaps his situation was even worse- after all, _he_ had been compared to money- _by his own family_ no less- and found lacking.  
  
  
“Do I have something on my face?” Baekhyun snapped his fingers in Jongin’s face a few times. “Hello?”  
  
  
Meekly, Jongin shook his head. “No, sorry. I was just lost in thought, that’s all.”  
  
  
Pursing his lips, Baekhyun turned back to the article of clothing he had on hand. “Anyway, I was just thinking that we should contact Kyungsoo and see if he’d be willing to change the color scheme. White isn’t a great color on him either.” He sighed. “We should have gone together with him, but he’s a stickler for traditions.”  
  
  
The thought elicited a shudder from Jongin. Though he had yet to witness the side of Kyungsoo that had given him his reputation, he could just feel the danger simmering underneath the short and squishy veneer. The other man had been rather considerate of him, all things considered, but Jongin had little doubt that it could all change within the blink of an eye. Honestly, he was supremely glad that Kyungsoo had declined to come with them.  
  
  
But evidently, Baekhyun had no objection to making these decisions himself. “Madame,” he snapped impatiently, and one of the saleswomen immediately made her way over to assist him. “I want to know if you carry this suit in dark blue.”  
  
  
  
  
-  
  
  
  
  
It surprised Jongin that they were having rehearsals at all (because, even at the peripherals of his family business, he had long learnt not to take unnecessary risks.) It was a little less of a surprise to learn that said rehearsal would be taking place in the middle of the desert.  
  
  
Jongin stared out the window of the armored car, watching as the trees sped by one by one. Every moment that passed caused a little bit more fear to bloom in his mind. Though he tried to empty his mind of all worries, his imagination kept cycling scenarios where he ended up dead, or worse. Right now, it seemed that his brain’s particular favorite was him being flayed alive and left out for vultures to peck at.  
  
  
“Relax.”  
  
  
Baekhyun’s voice was startling because Jongin had thought him asleep. Bunched up in a bundle of blankets in the passenger seat and wearing sunglasses, the shorter man looked the very picture of a slumbering traveler.  
  
  
“Kyungsoo isn’t going to have you killed, you can thank your family for *that* much at least.” Baekhyun adjusted his sunglasses, which had been jolted askew by Chanyeol’s sloppy driving. “At least, not until after he’s married you for your money. After that, you might have to watch your back.”  
  
  
“How reassuring,” Jongin muttered.  
  
  
Snickering loudly, Baekhyun retoted, “I’m not here to comfort you. That’s what Chanyeol is for.”  
  
  
Chanyeol, hunched over the steering wheel and fully concentrated on driving safely, had not been tuning into their conversation. Hearing his name broke immersion, however. “Huh?” he asked dumbly.  
  
  
“That _is_ pretty comforting,” Jongin admitted.  
  
  
“What are you guys talking about?” Chanyeol demanded. With alarm, Jongin noted that without fully concentrating, the bodyguard’s driving had worsened significantly. Unconsciously, his hand drifted to his seatbelt buckle, and he was relieved to discover that it was still fastened.  
  
  
Baekhyun didn’t seem too worried, however. “Nothing to worry your pretty head about,” he replied smoothly, reaching a skinny hand out to rub Chanyeol’s neck. “Just keep your eyes on the road.”  
  
  
“Are you two together?” Jongin blurted out. It was a suspicion he had harbored for a while now, and it felt like a pretty safe question to ask, so he decided to try and sate his curiosity.  
  
  
While Chanyeol stiffened, Baekhyun seemed to take the question in stride. “We are,” he announced. “Kind of, anyway. We’re as together as we can be.” There was a warning note in his last word, something that told Jongin the matter wasn’t worth pursuing any further. Consequently, he averted his gaze.  
  
  
It was rather beautiful, he thought. In a world as dangerous and unpredictable as theirs, in which tomorrow was far from a guarantee, it was quite comforting to see something so tender blossom. Jongin had only been around them for a short time, but even he could observe how much they seemed to love one another. From the fond tone in Baekhyun’s voice, to the way Chanyeol hung on the shorter man’s every word, and simply delighted in his presence: it reeked of a purity he hadn’t known since… ever. And it strangely gave him hope.  
  
  
In a way, it mirrored the dreams he had always had for himself, of building a life separate from the conflicts and bloodshed that had been all he had ever known. The story of the bodyguard and the prostitute was definitely no fairytale, no white picket fence dream. But the essence of his lost dreams was there, and Jongin couldn’t help but observe them with mixed feelings.  
  
  
“We’re almost there,” Baekhyun announced, snapping Jongin from his reverie. Looking up, he saw that the shorter man had produced a gigantic map in the interim, and was studying it intensely, equipped with glasses. “Take the next exit, Chanyeol.”  
  
  
Chanyeol nodded, eyes wide. “Okay.”  
  
  
As promised, they were in the absolute middle of bumfuck nowhere. Staring out the window, all Jongin could see for miles was dusty brown emptiness, with maybe a hint of tumbleweed unsteadily rolling about in the distance. Their destination was clear: a beat-down, solitary warehouse that stood by the side of the lonely road.  
  
  
“It looks kind of like tupperware,” Baekhyun noted with distaste. “Cheerless and lifeless. Not my kind of place, far from the ideal venue.”  
  
  
“They’re not getting _married_ here,” Chanyeol defended. “It’s just a rehearsal.”  
  
  
Jongin’s own opinion lay somewhere in the middle; while they _weren’t_ actually holding the ceremony here, he had doubts about how smoothly they would be able to transfer the rehearsal to the actual event. But, with a shrug, he decided that it wasn’t his problem: not at all enthused about the wedding, he could care less as to whether or not it was ultimately successful.  
  
  
Really, he had more things on his plate to worry about. He was living from day to day after all.  
  
  
Noticing only a single car in the lot (ostensibly that of his future husband,) Jongin raised an eyebrow. “No wedding planner?” he inquired. From clothes to the rehearsal, nothing had been done by halves to that point; it was surprising that such a significant detail would be overlooked.  
  
  
But of course, it wasn’t. Baekhyun turned and looked at him, eyes calm and lips twisted into a smirk. “ _I_ am your wedding planner,” he declared smugly.  
  
  
“Of course you are,” Jongin muttered, and the shorter man pretended not to hear him.  
  
  
It took Chanyeol a few times to pull into the lot correctly (“No, Yeol, you have to be within the lines- no, no NO! Oh my god, you ran over the curb…”) but eventually it was safe to disembark. For the first time in several long hours, Jongin could feel the ground beneath his shoes, and he reveled in the texture of the desert sand. No longer needing to fear death by burning crash (Chanyeol’s driving had truly been abysmal,) it felt as if a humongous weight had lifted itself from around his neck.  
  
  
With long strides that belied his short legs, Baekhyun marched up to the warehouse door, the two other men in tow. Fishing around in his pocket, the short man eventually produced a key with a quiet _a-ha!_  
  
  
It took a few tries for Baekhyun to wrest the door open, and the bottom edge scraped irritatingly against the ground as it did so. Immediately, they were greeted with the sight of rows upon rows of boxes, illuminated only by dusty, frail sunlight trickling in from the frosted skylights. Looking past that, Jongin could see a small group of people assembling what seemed to be a makeshift stage and altar.  
  
  
Everything seemed in order to Jongin, but Baekhyun was apparently less than satisfied. With a displeased frown fixed on his face, he trotted over to join with the others. “Where is Kyungsoo?” he demanded, in the tone of someone used to getting his way. “He should definitely be here, at the rehearsal.”  
  
  
One of the bigger men, whom Jongin mentally labeled as head goon, scratched his head. “He’s running late,” he answered. “Something about Bangtan being late with their profits. You know how it is.”  
  
  
Jongin blinked. Apparently, Kyungsoo didn’t take this farce of a wedding seriously either. And who could blame him?  
  
  
Though Baekhyun did not seem happy to hear this information, he did not say anything in response, choosing instead to purse his lips and school his expression into a pinched one to show his displeasure. It seemed quite effective at intimidating the goon, if the fearful way the (much larger) man step backwards was any indication.  
  
  
Chanyeol placed a placating hand on Baekhyun’s shoulder, but the latter just angrily shrugged him off. “Excuse me, I have a phone call to make,” he bit out, obviously furious. Whipping a phone out of his pocket, he stalked out of the warehouse, allowing the door to slam behind him with a _thud_.  
  
  
Deflating, the tall man allowed his hand to drop to his side as he trudged his way back over to Jongin. There was a sulky slouch in his posture and a pout on his weird, babyish face.  
  
  
Realizing that it was probably in his best interests to say nothing at all, Jongin did exactly that.  
  
  
  
  
-  
  
  
  
  
Kyungsoo _did_ eventually make his way back to the warehouse, but by then the sun had already fallen prostrate on the horizon, tainting all natural light red. He appeared with little pomp, with nothing heralding his attendance other than the creak of an opening door. Looking as impeccable as ever, it really did not appear as if he had been “taking care” of anything.  
  
  
“Evening, gentlemen,” he said smoothly. “I apologize: I may have been a _little_ bit late.”  
  
  
Baekhyun snorted. “Understatement,” he muttered, crossing his arms angrily.  
  
  
“But now that I’m here,” he continued, ignoring the other man’s interjection, “Why don’t we get started?”  
  
  
“Do we have time?” Baekhyun asked. But apparently, the question was rhetorical, because after a sigh, he made his way over to Kyungsoo, clipboard in hand.  
  
  
  
  
-  
  
  
  
  
Jongin rubbed his shoulders, feeling sore all over. Baekhyun was a tetchy and demanding little bitch, and had forced them to practice the entire ceremony at least a dozen times. It was well after midnight before he allowed them to take their first break.  
  
  
“Remember,” Baekhyun had tossed after them shrilly as they hastened away from him. “The only thing standing between your wedding and certain disaster is _me._ So I suggest you fix your attitudes before we start again.”  
  
  
Even thinking about the prospect made Jongin shudder. The entire ordeal had given him a newfound respect for brides and grooms that were able to tolerate the tediously grueling process.  
  
  
Surreptitiously, he glanced at Kyungsoo. It was difficult to gauge how the other man felt about the entire situation: Jongin had only been in his presence for some hours cumulative, and beyond that, Do Kyungsoo was notorious among his father’s circle for being difficult to read. He was living up to that reputation now, face set in a stony stoic expression.  
  
  
Perhaps he hadn’t been as sneaky as he thought, because the person in question swiveled his head, catching Jongin right in the act of staring at him. Jongin immediately turned away, flustered, the picture of that bland smirk burned into his eyes. He furiously berated himself for being so obvious: the less attention drawn to himself the better. All he could do now was hope that the other would leave him be.  
  
  
No such luck. Without even standing up, Kyungsoo sidled over to his side, peering up from under long lashes. “How have you been?” he asked cordially.  
  
  
“Well enough,” Jongin mumbled. The other man was obviously trying to ease his way into conversation with the nondescript question, and he hoped that his lackluster response would discourage any further interaction.  
  
  
He thought that it worked, at first. There was a moment or two of silence after that, as if Kyungsoo was chewing on his thoughts. But then he looked up once more, this time his expression wry. “Are you alright with what we’re going to be doing?”  
  
  
The words themselves were ones of concern, but Jongin could feel the steel edge within them on the hairs of his back. There was something artificial about how casual the other man was being, something akin to Voldemort making a joke: there must be some sort of dangerous catch accompanying it. Answering was likely not optional. “I- I am,” he lied. Because really, what benefit was there to saying that he wasn’t?  
  
  
“Good,” Kyungsoo studied him, looking inscrutable once more. Several moments passed, before he relieved the tension with a small smile, reaching over to pat Jongin on the shoulder. “It’d be pretty bad if you fell apart at the wedding. Can’t have that, can we.”  
  
  
“I suppose not,” Jongin offered a sickly smile in response.  
  
  
Kyungsoo stood up, and placed one hand on Jongin’s shoulder. His dark eyes gleamed brightly, something that caused a shiver of discomfort to run down Jongin’s spine. “As long as you do what you’re told,” he said softly, “I think we’ll get along splendidly, Jongin.”  
  
  
Evidently done with the conversation, the shorter man turned and left. Nevertheless, the hard grip of his fingers remained imprinted in Jongin’s mind as he kneaded his sore shoulder.  
  
  
  
  
  
-  
  
  
  


Jongin stared down the mirror intensely as he fiddled with his collar. He actually didn’t want to button the suit up all the way- not really. It just seemed like an extremely bad idea to allow his mind freedom to wander to all the things that could go wrong.  
  
  
Beside him, Baekhyun was readying his makeup kit. “You know, beneath all that acne scarring and uneven skin, your face actually isn’t bad at all. When I’m done with you,” the shorter man declared, eyes sparkling with nothing less than the greatest of certainties, “You’re going to be an absolute stunner. Soo won’t have you killed because you’ll be _that_ gorgeous.”  
  
  
The only correct response to such a statement was a raised eyebrow. “You’re that good?” Jongin asked skeptically, “And he lets you call him that?” Despite his feigned nonchalance, he noted with dismay that his hands were still shaking nervously. With all of his mental fortitude, he attempted to will the trembling into cessation, watching disappointedly as his body steadfastly refused to give in to his demands.  
  
  
“I do whatever I want,” Baekhyun retorted. Though he must have noticed Jongin’s anxiety, he gave it no heed, instead directing his attention back to his makeup kit. “It’s going to be hard to find a foundation that matches your skintone,” he tsked as he sorted through cushions and bottles and powders. “Korea only packs the super pale ones. What to do, what to do.”  
  
  
There was a knock on the door, and seeing that Baekhyun was decidedly not going to respond to it, Jongin walked over and pulled it open.  
  
  
“Hey!” Chanyeol poked his head in, looking supremely awkward in his suit. “The guests have started arriving. Boss wants you out there to greet them, Baek.”  
  
  
Jongin turned to see the shorter man nodding irritatedly. “I know, I know, I’ll be there,” he muttered. “Give me a few minutes to do Jongin’s makeup.”  
  
  
When Baekhyun beckoned, Jongin made his way back to the vanity, allowing the door to slide closed behind him. Again at the shorter man’s urging, Jongin sat down once more. Immediately, he could feel the other working over his face with the cool padding of a cushion puff.  
  
  
“Still scared for your life?” Baekhyun inquired with a sardonic smile, packing the foundation on with a careful hand.  
  
  
Well, he was. But for that very reason, he was unable to force his mouth into functioning. So he settled for a grim nod, one that would probably convey his feelings on the matter quite adequately anyway.  
  
  
“Even if he wanted to, he’s not going to get rid of you for a year at least,” Baekhyun pointed out, imparting a dusting of bronzer on the sides of his face with a kabuki brush. “It’d be too suspicious if you suddenly went missing.” A meaningful look. “Perhaps you should do your best in the meanwhile to make yourself indispensable,” he suggested.  
  
  
Quietly, Jongin digested the other man’s words. It was sound advice and a cold comfort, if nothing else. Making oneself was something easier said than done, but with his life riding in the balance, the idea that he had a choice at all was little more than a farce.  
  
  
“Just going to tightline your eyes, then I’m done.” Baekhyun pulled out an eyeliner pencil with one hand and stretched Jongin’s eyes with another. “I know how it feels,” he continued conversationally, pulling the pointy tip of the pencil down Jongin’s eyelid. “I’ve been in your shoes before. Well, sort of, anyway.” Lifting his hand away to examine his handiwork, Baekhyun emitted a satisfied sound, and began to pack all his things away.  
  
  
Left alone in the room, Jongin could feel himself getting jittery. There were so many things that could go wrong- his future was so uncertain- and the seed of worry curled and germinated deep within him. Up to that point, he hadn’t really allowed himself to think much about what was happening, but he couldn’t put it off any longer; he was really getting married.  
  
  
And asides from that, he was feeling a sort of uncertainty about it all. Up until that point, he had been so certain in his choices, that he had made the best he could of the shitty hand he’d been dealt. But with so much time to mull over his decisions, he couldn’t help but wonder if there had been something he missed, if he could have done something else. Perhaps if he’d been more alert or observant, he might’ve been able to escape; or else, perhaps he should not have agreed to betraying his family. It was over and done with now, he knew, but it was impossible to get it off his mind.  
  
  
He had never really been a pacer, but he found himself pacing now. If nothing else, it was therapeutic in the way that it distracted him from less pleasant matters. Jongin tried to keep himself focused on each next step, rather than on his upcoming nuptials. One foot before the other, one before the other, one before the other…  
  
  
The door suddenly creaked open, jolting him from his reverie. Kyungsoo stepped into the room, looking spectacularly calm and as impeccably dressed as ever.  
  
  
“Hello Jongin,” he greeted pleasantly. “How are you handling things?”  
  
  
Despite his demeanor, Kyungsoo’s presence still discomfited Jongin greatly. While it was true that he had never explicitly witnessed anything befitting the fearful reputation that the shorter man had attained, there was something unsettling about him nonetheless. So it was with great trepidation that Jongin regarded him, and with even greater apprehension that he formed his answer.  
  
  
“I’m doing alright,” Jongin said cautiously. He cursed the wobble in his voice that was sure to give him away.  
  
  
Each step Kyungsoo took in his approach only heightened the tension in the air. “That’s good to hear,” he continued, expression ever solemn. “Your parents have just arrived. Do you want to go and greet them?”  
  
  
While he had been expecting this, it nevertheless brought a weakness to his knees, and he felt them buckling beneath him. Quickly, he seated himself before he could collapse to the ground.  
  
  
How could he face his parents, knowing that he was, in effect, sealing the fate of their family forever? For the first time since he had agreed to the plan, the ramifications of his plans truly sunk in. The Kim family was done, possibly forever, their wealth and territory absorbed by the Do family. He had secured his position for a year, perhaps more if he was lucky, but at great cost.  
  
  
And another, fearful thought struck him. What if it was a test? Kyungsoo might be gauging his usefulness by testing his mettle; declining to greet his family might be taken as a sign of cowardice. The wrong move might be equitable to signing his death warrant. While it seemed far-fetched, when he looked at Kyungsoo’s blank, calculating face, he couldn’t help but think it true.  
  
  
Deciding that he needed to fill the silence in the interim, Jongin inclined his head and said, “Could you give me some time to compose myself?”  
  
  
Jongin couldn’t tell if it was his imagination, but though Kyungsoo’s expression did not much change, his eyes seemed to twinkle in some sort of satisfaction as he nodded. “Of course,” he said. “I’ll be right outside whenever you’re ready.”  
  
  
Left alone in the room once more, Jongin felt a small wave of relief break against the shores of his mind Even amongst the tumultuous tides of anxiety that raged within his mind, the momentary respite from his husband-to-be was much appreciated, and he found himself breathing more freely.  
  
  
Shutting his eyes, he tried to steel his resolve. There was nothing wrong with looking out for his own best interests, Jongin told himself. Wasn’t that what his family had done? And while he didn’t expect any less of them, what was wrong in doing the same for himself? Survival of the fittest, he repeated over and over, until it was almost palatable to his ears.  
  
  
Opening his eyes, Jongin saw himself in the mirror. Baekhyun had worked his magic, there was no doubt about that- he looked both himself, and different. The difference was subtle and natural, but the effect was immense. It felt strangely empowering, as if he was somehow suddenly emboldened by the unfamiliar face staring back, as if all his responsibility toward his family had been dissolved.  
  
  
With this burst of conviction coursing through his system, he stood up. He could do this now, he could do it for as long as this feeling lasted. And really, all he could do was hope that it wasn’t a fleeting strength, that it wouldn’t leave him high and dry in times of crisis. With a final glance toward his reflection, he made his way to the door, ready to face the undoubtedly unpleasant experience that lay ahead.  
  
  
  
  
-  
  
  
  
  
The first thing that went through Jongin’s mind upon entering the ballroom, was that Baekhyun needn’t have rented such a large venue. As he had expected, guests were limited to what appeared to be Kyungsoo’s associates, as well as others running in the same circle. He supposed that made some sort of sense- the less witnesses, the more smoothly the entire plan would go.  
  
  
Kyungsoo held onto his arm with a firm grip, and steadily led him through the room. The thin crowd parted for him without prompting, and Jongin couldn’t help but feel rather awed. He was familiar with the stories surrounding his husband-to-be, of course, but seeing the effects of it firsthand was something else entirely. His father had commanded respect within his own coalition, but nothing like this.  
  
  
“Here we are,” Kyungsoo said, the triumph in his voice palpable. Seated alone at a table before them was his father, looking weaker than Jongin had ever seen him. Perhaps the distance had dulled his memory, but- had his hair always been so grey? Or his face so lined with the parchment creases of age? There were only a few moments to contemplate this, before Kyungsoo turned around with a raised eyebrow. “Do you want to greet him?” he inquired curiously. “Or shall I?”  
  
  
“I’ll do it,” Jongin declared, and it was all he could do to keep his voice from quivering and sounding brittle. He was seeing his father for the last time after all- and all things considered, the man before him was _still_ his father- and the least he could do was give the man who raised him the send-off that he deserved.  
  
  
One step forward, then another. He was close enough to see the sluggishness of his father’s movement, and the sad look in his eye. There was sadness there. Regret. Resignation.  
  
  
It was enough to break him. Jongin froze in his tracks, his feet unwilling to deliver him even one meter forward. It was as if the air around him had condensed into a heavy weight that distributed itself around his shoulders, and hung all around him like a heavy cloak. It was so difficult to understand the feelings that were coursing through him now: there were so many large and small components tearing at his heart and roaring in his ears, that it was utterly impossible to sift through and understand them all.  
  
  
Perhaps realizing that his fiancé was effectively immobilized, Kyungsoo took the initiative to step forward. “Glad to see you, Mr. Kim,” he said in his even-toned voice. “I’m glad to see you here today.”  
  
  
Part of Jongin was afraid that his father would look up then to see him standing there. He feared seeing the realization and disappointment follow one after another in those familiar eyes. But it did not happen; the old man kept his eyes to Kyungsoo and affected a fake smile. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” he answered, a great cheer in his voice. “It’s so generous of you to not hold the debt against us.”  
  
  
And that was exactly what Jongin needed. All the emotions that were singing within him immediately ceased, leaving a deathly silence ringing in his ears. On some level, he understood his father: there was no choice for him but to act thusly. But seeing his father there, pandering obsequiously in an attempt to curry favor- it was a little bit disgusting. It was easier then, for him to gather his wits, and walk up to stand by Kyungsoo’s side, because the man who stood there before them was _not_ the powerful man he remembered.  
  
  
“Hello,” he said, surprising himself with the evenness of his tone. There was no wobble there- his voice implied a nonexistent confidence. “Father.”  
  
  
His father looked as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. “Jongin?” The color rapidly drained from his face, and his mouth gaped like a fish. “You’re still alive?”  
  
  
It was easy to see when everything began to sink in: shock flitted across his father’s features, and then fear and despair.  
  
  
“I didn’t invite you here because I kept you in favor,” Kyunsgoo informed the old man candidly, seeming to take pleasure in the distress he was causing. “I just thought you’d want to be here for your son’s wedding. It isn’t an event that should be missed.” A pause. “A pity your wife couldn’t make it.”  
  
  
It took a few seconds for Jongin to find the words he was searching for. “Yes, father,” he answered at length. “Yes, I am in fact, still alive. That must be an unpleasant shock for you, seeing as you left me to dry.”  
  
  
His father looked sickly and pale, but did not say a word, eyes shifting back and forth concernedly.  
  
  
“I’m alive and kicking,” Jongin continued, gleaning some sort of vindictive pleasure from the words he was saying. “Which will be more than I can say for you. I sincerely hope you’ve enjoyed your meal, father.”  
  
  
“Jongin,” his father said at last, doing his best to seek his gaze. “Jongin, you can’t let them do this. I have to take care of your mother, your sisters. Please! You have to understand.”  
  
  
Jongin averted his gaze, refusing to meet his father’s eyes.  
  
  
“Oh, I assure you they will be taken care of, Mr. Kim.” Kyungsoo smiled widely. No one missed the implication of his words.  
  
  
Either he did not register Kyungsoo’s words, or else he was simply trying to block them out, but Jongin’s father kept his eyes trained on his son. “I understand how you feel, how you felt,” he said, obviously trying a different tactic. “Revenge might seem like an attractive plan now, but is it worth trading your family for?”  
  
  
And it was those words that finally sent a rush of righteous anger through Jongin’s veins. “Is it?” he spat, echoing his father’s words. His hands clenched tightly of their own volition, a reflection of all the fury that roared beneath his skin. “What about guns? Are guns worth trading your family for?” He looked his father dead in the eyes, stared down that feeble old man. “Tell me, was it worth it?”  
  
  
There was only silence now, and fear. And it was Kyungsoo whose eyes flitted from person to person, glee obvious in his grin. “Oh, bravo.” He declared with a slow, slow clap. “I would ask for an encore, but reruns are rarely as entertaining the second time around.” Turning back, he clapped his hand on the shoulder of Jongin’s father. “I hope you will enjoy the festivities, Mr. Kim,” he pronounced. “But your son and I have to go and greet other guests. Proper etiquette, you see.”  
  
  
“Jongin,” his father pleaded, one last time.  
  
  
“You heard Kyungsoo, father.” Jongin tilted his head up defiantly. “So if you will excuse us, we have guests to attend to.”  
  
  
Jongin half expected to feel better after that, from catharsis if nothing else. But he didn’t feel much of anything; there was only an all-resounding numbness, like the harsh edge of reality had been dulled. It was a welcome relief from what he had been experiencing, to be sure, but he didn’t know if he was truly feeling any better than before.  
  
  
“That was magnificent,” Kyungsoo whispered, looking up at him with a gleam in his eyes. “It was truly a thing of beauty. Anger is a good look for you.”  
  
  
He didn’t know what to say to that, so he didn’t say anything.  
  
  
  
  
-  
  
  
  
  
The cold numbness stayed with him for the remainder of the day. It settled his blood as he greeted the guests with a smile. It deadened his mind as he walked down that aisle, towards Kyungsoo and his soulless smile. It evened his voice when they exchanged vows, and weighed down his fingers and heart as they exchanged rings.  
  
  
When Kyungsoo’s lips met his own in a swooping kiss- a parody of romance- he closed his eyes.  
  
  
  
  
-  
  
  
  
  
Jongin watched boredly as Chanyeol dragged his father’s body out of the building, the corpse leaking a trail of blood behind.  
  
  
  
  
-  
  
  
  
  
Jongin sat on the bed, eyes level with the window, gazing off into the horizon where the sun met with the ocean in a hazy, red embrace. His husband was elsewhere- sometime after the ceremony, Chanyeol had come with some urgent news about the Bangtan branch of operations, and Kyungsoo had departed to investigate the matter further.  
  
  
So he was all alone on his wedding bed, though he couldn’t say he had felt sadder for it. Less pressure, if anything, which was always a welcome change. But Jongin knew that his husband would return sometime- perhaps to consummate the marriage, perhaps not; who could say?- and every passing moment brought with it an ounce of nervousness.  
  
  
Anxiety seemed to be a standard state for him these days.  
  
  
Feeling the cold ocean air sneak in through the window, he sighed and pulled the blankets tighter around his body. It was really inconvenient that they had chosen Kyungsoo’s residence on the coast, he thought sourly. Not only was the crashing of the waves exceedingly noisy, but the atmosphere was clammy and pneumonic. The experience was thoroughly unpleasant.  
  
  
A yawn extracted itself from deep within him, bringing sleepy tears to his eyes. He had not wanted to sleep, to be honest (there was so much to consider if he wanted to keep his head,) but when his thoughts were so addled by exhaustion, sleep didn’t seem so bad…  
  
  
  
  
-  
  
  
  
  
“Jongin.”  
  
  
The whisper was as quiet as the rustle of the palms, but it startled him awake nevertheless. A pitch-black all enveloping darkness pervaded, broken only by the ghostly beams of the moon. In the room, he could only perceive indistinct shadows: the wrinkles of the blanket, the contour of the walls, and the silhouette of a person standing at the foot of the bed.  
  
  
A scratching sound, followed by the warm flicker of a match. Kyungsoo held it to the wick of a candle, until it burned steadily on its own. He looked positively crazed in the unnatural lighting, his wide eyes and wide grin imbuing his person with a manic quality.  
  
  
Jongin wasn’t sure how to address Kyungsoo- did he call him Kyungsoo, or Mister Do?- so he simply inclined his head in response.  
  
  
“You stood up for yourself today,” Kyungsoo continued. “And looked damn good doing it. Quite the difference from the simpering, spineless thing you were when we first met.” A slow smirk took over his face. “I suppose being married to you might not be so bad after all.” With measured steps, he made his way over to the bed, setting the candle on the nightstand. “Truth be told, I honestly was considering just discarding you when the time was right.”  
  
  
While Jongin had been pretty sure that Kyunsgoo had been harboring such intentions, to hear his suspicions confirmed was nevertheless unsettling. It was a reminder that, for all he had sacrificed, his position was still a shaky one at best.  
  
  
Kyungsoo slipped into bed beside him, causing it to dip. “But there’s been a change of plans,” he whispered, voice husky and eyes glazed. He moved his hand onto Jongin’s shoulder with a gentle touch, sliding it up toward his collar. “It seems you still have the potential to be useful after all.”  
  
  
Jongin shut his eyes as the unfamiliar fingers began to work the buttons of his shirt. Though he had known this moment was coming, he had never really spared it much thought- other matters had always been more pressing. What was a wedding night next to life and death?  
  
  
The shirt slid off his body, exposing his sensitive body to cool night air. Instinctively, he shivered, only to do so again when calloused fingertips trailed softly down the skin of his shoulders. It wasn’t as if he were a virgin- he’d had his fair share of experiences here and there- but in this particular case, he was anxious about how he would perform. While Jongin wasn’t absolutely certain it was the case, he felt as if he had a lot of things riding on it.  
  
  
Leaning down, Kyungsoo kissed the blade of his shoulder. “Whatever else can be said about you,” he murmured into the skin, sending nerve-tingling vibrations across its surface, “You are a pleasure to look at.”  
  
  
Passively, he allowed himself to be pushed down onto the bed. In an attempt to hurry things along, he began to take off his slacks himself with clumsy fingers. The button undone, he hooked his thumbs into his boxer briefs, and pulled them both off in one smooth motion.  
  
  
Kyungsoo smiled briefly. “Very nice,” he complimented. “Pity we won’t be using that today; I haven’t douched, so I won’t be bottoming.” He raised an eyebrow. “Unless you fancy some scat play?” There was a perverse glimmer in his eye that alarmed Jongin, and he could only imagine the degradation that would come with such adventuring.  
  
  
Jongin shook his head.  
  
  
“I thought not.”  
  
  
Reaching over to the nightstand, Kyungsoo pulled one of the drawers open. Out of his peripheral vision, Jongin noted the contents: lubes, condoms, and objects of alarming shapes and sizes that he could only assume were toys. He watched with bated breath as his husband retrieved a bottle of lube and a condom packet, a let out a shaky sigh of relief when he closed it without grabbing any of the toys.  
  
  
His relief did not go unnoticed, provoking a short burst of laughter from Kyungsoo. “Not the adventurous type?” he queried.  
  
  
“Some of those toys were ridiculous,” Jongin muttered under his breath. He had serious doubts about the ability of his body orifices to admit entry to those… phallic monstrosities.  
  
  
A throaty chuckle. “We’ll have to work you up to it, I suppose,” Kyungsoo replied, eyes gleaming like stars in the darkness. “Another time, perhaps.”  
  
  
He winced when fingers, cold from the lube, prodded at his entrance. He half expected them to impale him immediately, but they only rubbed on the outer rim, sending a shiver through his spine. It wasn’t the most comfortable feeling- he squirmed, desiring greatly to draw back. Instead, he clenched his teeth and tried to take it in stride.  
  
  
Kyungsoo smirked as he continued to rub. “One day, I’ll take you to get this bleached,” he promised, “So it will match the rest of you.”  
  
  
Jongin felt his lips twitching. “Killer bedroom talk you have there,” he remarked dryly. The absurdity of the subject drained some of the tension from him; he could feel his shoulders relaxing. “What do I need to get it bleached for?”  
  
  
His husband raised an eyebrow. “To keep it presentable of course. If you’re to be a proper trophy wife, you’re going to need to look the best you can, amongst other things.”  
  
  
“Who’s going to see it anyway?” Jongin retorted.  
  
  
Kyungsoo pretended to look thoughtful. “Who knows,” he said after a short pause. “I have some friends that are curious.”  
  
  
The barest beginnings of a smile had been forming on his lips, but those words wiped any trace of it clean off his lips. He tried to keep a blank face, but what his husband said had put a spin in his plans. Jongin knew that their marriage was a sham at best, but he had thought it would at least afford him some measure of immunity from such treatment. Being whored out to Kyungsoo’s friends was definitely _not_ on the itinerary.  
  
  
Perhaps his trepidation showed on his face more than he would like, because Kyungsoo left out a bark of laughter. “We can negotiate these things later,” he allowed. “For now- turn around, flip yourself over.”  
  
  
The way the topic was concluded did not satisfy him, but he decided he could let it go for now. With a token grunt of protest, he maneuvered himself until he was face down on the pillow, his ass exposed to the air.  
  
  
Once again, the prodding at his entrance resumed, this time slightly more insistent. One finger began to apply a rather relentless pressure directly to his hole, obviously seeking to penetrate. Knowing better than to prolong the inevitable, he squeezed his eyes shut and mentally tried to relax the muscle.  
  
  
When his body finally opened up enough to accept the finger, the feeling was indescribable: a weird hybrid of shame, violation, pain and pleasure. Jongin clenched his teeth, preempting himself from making any sort of sound; nevertheless, he heard himself emit a choked sigh, much to his embarrassment.  
  
  
“You’re so tight,” Kyungsoo was obviously delighted. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?” He punctuated the end of the sentence by thrusting his finger even deeper, and Jongin felt his face scrunching involuntarily at the intrusion.  
  
  
“ _Nngh._ ” Despite his best efforts, the nerves in his body were tingling, it was utterly impossible for him to silence his reaction. It hadn’t even been his prostate, and he had practically exploded. Jongin grimaced- Kyungsoo was right. It had definitely been a long time.  
  
  
A chuckle sounded behind him. “How many fingers do you want me to stretch you with?” Kyungsoo asked him. “Two? Three?”  
  
  
Jongin tossed a glance backwards, to check what his husband was packing. “… three.” That was definitely no skinny pencil micropenis.  
  
  
The next time Kyungsoo’s hand thrusted forward, it was two fingers inserted instead of one. More than he cared to admit, he felt discomfited by the way he could feel his body stretching to accommodate the extra digit. Jongin licked his lips, wrinkling his mouth at the metallic taste of blood. His lips had been bitten raw in the effort to suppress his undignified sounds.  
  
  
Kyungsoo continued to stretch him for another minute, poking and prodding and scissoring his insides. With each movement, Jongin had to make a more focused effort to contain himself- and on occasion, he found himself slipping up and whimpering before he could catch himself.  
  
  
It was impossible to keep himself from shivering when warm puffs of breath ghosted at his entrance. He opened his mouth, but the only cry he made was wordless. It was a warm welcome after the frigid feeling of the lube.  
  
  
“I think you’re ready for it,” Kyungsoo said quietly.  
  
  
“Go ahead,” he answered, his voice throaty. Truth be told, Jongin didn’t know if he was adequately prepared for the actual act itself, but he figured he might as well get it over with. Ripping off the band-aid, or something like that.  
  
  
“Alright, hold still.”  
  
  
He held himself in suspense for what felt like a horrendously long time. To his horror, he felt his hole twitch impatiently: probably a reaction to being exposed to the elements and the chill of the night air, but intensely embarrassing nonetheless.  
  
  
Kyungsoo seemed to delight in that. “Wow,” he marveled gleefully, running his index finger down the partition of Jongin’s butt. “Aren’t you an eager slut?”  
  
  
Eventually, he felt something press against his entrance, but to his horror, it wasn’t the hard, warm flesh he had been expecting. He tried to crane his head around to see what the other man was doing (had he gotten a toy from the cabinet when Jongin wasn’t looking?), but Kyungsoo chose that moment to thrust forward, and whatever it was ran deep into Jongin, touching his prostate and extracting from him a hoarse cry that scraped his throat raw.  
  
  
It was painful, so painful. The fingers had been uncomfortable in their own way, but nothing had prepared him for something quite like this. He could feel his fingers unconsciously closing around the sheets, gripping them with desperation, trying to draw some sort of strength from them.  
  
  
“You like it?” Kyungsoo asked, the leer palpable in his voice.  
  
  
Jongin was beyond words now. While whatever within him was clearly similar enough to a member that his body had accepted it without qualms, he could feel its odd shape whenever he clenched around it. It was beyond bizarre- not only did he have to adjust to the feeling of being filled, he also had to get himself used to the strange roughness of it. He didn’t know what sort of company would manufacture such an oddly textured dildo; it seemed counterintuitive.  
  
  
A whistle, but he was too far gone to register it. Words sounded distantly in his ears: “You’re such a pig.” The statement was delighted of tone, but bore the bearings of disgust as well. “I can’t believe you’d let me shove a gun in you.”  
  
  
A _what_.  
  
  
Jongin whipped his head around. There, half in Kyungsoo’s hand and half in his rear end, was indeed a gun.  
  
  
“What the _fuck_!” He shouted, fingers scrambling for purchase on the slippery silken sheets. He tried to pull himself forward and off of the gun that was penetrating him, but it remained lodged firmly where it was inserted. Instead, it felt as if his ass and Kyungsoo were grappling for control of the firearm.  
  
  
“Hold still!” Kyungsoo snapped. “I can’t take it out with you squirming like this.”  
  
  
The thought was enough to immobilize Jongin. “What if it goes off in my ass?” he demanded fearfully. “I’ll end up as a fleshy mess of blood and shit. Oh my god, take it out _take it out!_ ”  
  
  
Jongin was acutely aware of the gun as it was pulled out of his ass. It felt like three parts taking a huge dump, and one part sheer terror. When it left his body with a _pop_ , he sagged onto the bed bonelessly, heaving a sigh of utter relief.  
  
  
Carefully, Kyungsoo placed the gun onto the nightstand. “You’re overreacting,” he grumbled. “It wasn’t even loaded; I just wanted to have some fun with it.”  
  
  
“Maybe you can have fun that doesn’t involve _sticking a gun in my ass_ ,” Jongin snapped, before suddenly remembering the entirety of the situation.  
  
  
Fuck. He wasn’t supposed to sass Kyungsoo, he was supposed to try and get onto his good side. What if his husband decided that Jongin was more trouble than he was worth, and ended up choosing not to keep him around anymore? He’d made it so far down the road of self-preservation; was this the point where he ended up as roadkill?  
  
  
Kyungsoo’s face was unreadable; the smile had long since departed, along with any light in his eyes. The look he wore now was calculating, robotic. There was something artificial in the way he gazed at Jongin attentively. It brought the fear of uncertainty back, an element he hadn’t really been missing.  
“I should have known you were vanilla,” Kyungsoo said finally. With a disappointed sigh, he grabbed onto his own cock, jerking it twice, before lining it up with the crack of Jongin’s ass. Already loosened by the barrel of the gun (and before that, Kyungsoo’s fingers,) Jongin’s entrance opened up with little resistance, allowing the (rather substantial) cock fill it to capacity.  
  
  
Feeling his hands buckle under the sensations he was once more experiencing, Jongin allowed himself to drop back onto the sheets again. After having the cold, inanimate gun within him, it felt so _right_ to be filled with a member of hard flesh.  
  
  
Kyungsoo thrusted then, and both men rocked forward by the momentum of the motion. Jongin gasped as the cockhead brushed against his prostate, bringing with it a nebulous wave of pleasure. It washed through his body; soaked it like the rays of the sun, and broke against him like the tides of the moon. Each time the cock made contact with the bundle of nerves, he felt- for one searing moment- what must have been the most thrilling combination of anticipation and satisfaction.  
  
  
And truly, it was overwhelming. Each time Kyungsoo struck against his prostate, his entire mind blanked, short circuited. A tantalizing, all-encompassing burst of immense pleasure, then- nothing.  
  
  
It was a little frustrating too: the cocktail of feelings came in waves, and the last vestiges of each one died down completely before a thrust heralded the onset of the next. It wasn’t enough, it wasn’t anywhere _close_ to being enough. Impatiently, he pushed himself backward, seeking to derive that feeling for himself.  
  
  
Dignity be damned. Safety be damned. He needed to cum.  
  
  
“Faster,” he moaned, his voice more wanton than he could ever remember himself sounding. But really, he couldn’t care less at this point, not when Kyungsoo met his demands with harder and faster thrusts.  
  
  
He was nearly at the precipice of his own orgasm when he felt Kyungsoo spasm within him. Thought he had barely felt the spurting itself, it was obvious what had happened when a trail of cum leaked down his thigh. Without even caring to bring Jongin to completion, his husband pulled out.  
  
  
With trembling limbs, he pulled himself up onto his side, rotating himself to level an incredulous stare at Kyungsoo.  
  
  
“What, did you expect me to return the favor and get you off too?” Kyungsoo smirked. Using his knees, he made his way over to Jongin, giving his spent cock a few extra jerks as he did so, milking the last of the semen from within. Leaning down, he whispered, “Isn’t that what your hands are for?”  
  
  
Clumsily, Jongin grabbed at his cock, using a hard grip to rub it up and down. He was able to glean some short bursts of pleasure with the friction, but it wasn’t the same as the mind-blowing kind he had felt from prostate stimulation. He shot a frustrated glare at Kyungsoo as he palmed his cock furiously. Fuck selfish partners.  
  
  
“Tell you what. If you’re a good boy and help me clean _this_ up,” Kyungsoo gestured to himself. “Then I’ll let you borrow a toy. Maybe one of those eight-inch dildos, or a vibrator. Hmm? What do you say?” As if to further demonstrate his offer, he used his cock to smear cum across Jongin’s face.  
  
  
Jongin was absolutely incensed. He hadn’t agreed to this arrangement to be thusly degraded- he had only agreed in the first place in order to avoid it. “Fuck you,” he spat. Tightening his fist around his cock, he jerked up and down as fast as he was able, eyes never leaving Kyungsoo’s, holding them in a defiant stare. The orgasm that culminated was disappointing, but the triumph he felt made it well worth it. As he allowed himself to lay back onto the bed, utterly spent, he observed a thoughtful look settle onto Kyungsoo’s face.  
  
  
“And there’s that spine again,” he noted with a small smile. “Guess it wasn’t just a one-time fluke after all.” A pause. “Goddamn that’s hot.”  
  
  
They stared at one another for a minute more after that, giving Jongin time to ponder what had just happened. Before he could reach any satisfactory conclusion, Kyungsoo reached over and pinched out the flame of the wick, leaving them once more with only the natural light of the night sky.  
  
  
“Good night, Jongin.” He said, voice as soft as moonbeams.  
  
  
-


End file.
